Diamond Soul
by Mississippi-moon
Summary: It is a strange sensation to be on the brink of death. Everything grows cold and mute, and your body is numb and you simply feel like a floating head. Arthur hated to admit it, but it was a feeling he was now quite accustomed to, what with people trying to murder him frequently. This time, however, he had been sure that this was the last time. Or so he thought...
1. Chapter 1

"_There's… something I want to say." _

"_You're not- you're not going to say goodbye."_

"_No… Merlin. I want to say something I've never said to you before…"_

_Merlin felt his insides turn to ice as he gazed at his friend for the last time._

"_Thank you."_

Everything he had worked so long and hard to prevent-with destiny pulling him every which-way so hard and fast that he thought he might rip in half-it all happened nonetheless. Merlin's breath hitched as he felt a bitter, sinking feeling in his chest with an intensity he had never felt the likes of before. The pure sense of dread and _failure _made the blood roar in his ears and he lost control of his shuddering gasps, his cheeks wet with tears. He could already feel Arthur's skin growing cold, and suddenly Merlin felt that the king's fate was sealed. It was only a matter of time before the king's labored breathing would cease forever.

Merlin raised his head and cursed at the sky, the damned lake he couldn't quite reach, and he cursed Morgana and Mordred and himself for not being better. He let out a howl that sounded inhuman even to his ears, but he didn't care, even as it turned to a sob and then a whimper. The warlock lost track of how long he sat there, trembling and holding his best friend, going numb beneath the still, armor-clad body.

"I made you a promise, Arthur," Merlin whispered into his friend's hair. "I'm not-I _can't_ fail you. Not when it's my job to protect you, old friend."

It was as if Merlin's magical instincts simply overcame his mind as he laid Arthur gently down in the long grass. His arms seemed to move on their own as he touched a hand to the fallen king's chest and Merlin's body went rigid. He felt a warm buzzing fill him, and he was confused by the sensation, but he also felt strangely calm. Merlin had never performed this type of magic-whatever it was-it seemed to flow directly out of him and made the very air hum around the pair. King and servant. Unlikely friends. _Two sides of the same coin_.

Merlin tore his gaze from Arthur's peaceful face and saw a golden, shimmery dome was forming and growing around them as the spell progressed. He couldn't help but smile at the beauty of it-it filled him with hope. However, as the dome expanded, Merlin started to feel a tug in his chest that quickly ignited into a burning pain. He flinched, but did not relent, returning his gaze down to Arthur. Merlin could see color returning to his skin, and his breathing was beginning to even out.

_It's working!_

Merlin allowed that thought to spur him on, even as the discomfort in his chest spread and became increasingly harder to bear. In fact, the longer Merlin held his own, the more painful it got. Suddenly, he was struggling to breathe, but the warlock was determined as ever. The dome was reaching for the sky as if the spell itself was growing larger with a mind of its own. He kept going, sweat beading on his brow, his hands trembling. The pain was building and it felt like his insides were on fire. Merlin let out a roar that was mixed with agony and determination, and the golden dome collapsed in on itself with a mighty rumble, tossing the spell-caster back and filling the air with golden sparks. All was silent again. The birds and crickets seemed to hold their breath. Not even the wind dared to blow, nor did the trees rustle.

Arthur's eyes flew open.

It was a strange sensation to be on the brink of death. Everything grows cold and mute, and your body is numb and you simply feel like a floating head. Arthur hated to admit it, but it was a feeling he was now quite accustomed to, what with people trying to murder him frequently. This time, however, he had been sure that this was the last time. There were no second chances, or miraculous recoveries this time. _Or so he thought…_

Arthur had just been able to make out the face of his father, waiting for him to cross over, when he felt a strange tugging. At first, he resisted it. After all, he had accepted his fate graciously, knowing that Camelot was in capable hands. But the pull persisted, and it felt warm and familiar. He thought maybe a voice called to him as well, and it sounded something like: _Oh, you're not done, yet, you lazy clotpole. _But perhaps that was the delirium that came with near-death experiences. Arthur shook his head with an annoyed smile. He did _not _want his delirium to take on the persona of none other than _Mer_lin. That boy was always invading his private life, and Arthur really didn't need him in his brain, too.

Arthur saw Uther falter, and the former king's eyes widened. He yelled something, but Arthur couldn't hear it over the loud buzzing noise that had invaded his ears. He looked down at his wispy hands and scoffed at the strange gold glow emanating from them.

_Strange sensation indeed, _Arthur thought.

Somehow he didn't feel threatened by the tugging, and thought maybe there was something important behind him. So he gazed back at his father and smiled a bittersweet smile. His father looked stricken, but he was beginning to fade from Arthur's vision. He turned away, towards the persistent tugging, and wiped furiously at the wetness in his eyes.

Arthur gasped, his lungs aching at being filled deeply so suddenly. He coughed, leaning his head back and groaning at the discomfort. He lay there for a moment, simply getting used to breathing again. His eyes adjusted as he stared at the blue sky, something he never thought he would see again. Arthur's fingers grasped at the tall grass surrounding him, and he actually laughed. The burning in his lungs subsided rather quickly, and Arthur sat up with a newfound lightness that made him feel years younger. The pain he had endured for days was completely gone, and the king felt invigorated. _How the hell?_

Arthur's smile faded as he remembered the circumstances that brought him to this very spot. Modred stabbing him, Morgana pursuing them, and Merlin…

_Merlin!_

Arthur stood, priding himself in only wobbling a little, and searched the area. It was then that Arthur noticed the tiny golden flecks bouncing in the air. He frowned. _Strange. _Just what had happened here? How was he even breathing? And where would Merlin have gone? Like an answer to Arthur's question, his eyes settled on a small figure bundled in a brown jacket lying on the ground near the treeline.

Arthur's feet were moving before his mind caught up with him, his heart already twisted in knots at the sight of his fallen servant. Arthur reached the warlock's side in no time. He crouched down, turning Merlin's prone figure over on his back. The servant didn't even stir, which set off alarm bells in Arthur's brain. He winced as he took in the pallor of his friend's face. It was a stark white against the dirt and small streak of blood on his forehead. Arthur brushed Merlin's dark hair to the side to inspect the wound there.

It looked a bit swollen and painful, but it wasn't bleeding too badly and Arthur figured it wasn't very serious. He tore a strip of fabric from Merlin's already battered tunic. The king figured it was already ruined and could be put to better use. He gingerly dabbed up the blood, noting that the bleeding had already stopped. Arthur sighed in relief, expecting that it wouldn't be long until the servant gained consciousness, and then maybe he could explain what he did to get himself in this predicament in the first place.

After all, Arthur knew the stubborn dollophead had a habit of going above and beyond when it came to protecting him. At least, now he knew. Merlin had served and protected Arthur for ten whole years and never once sought any credit. He remained in the shadows, whispering life-saving incantations and risking his life, just to be called a useless serving-boy through it all. Arthur suddenly felt nauseous. Everything he had learned on the journey here had finally caught up with him. The sad thing was that it made perfect sense. It all clicked. Arthur was at a loss for how he had been so oblivious for so long. There was a string of odd events that managed to turn the tide in Camelot's favor: rockslides, cave-ins, tree branches falling on bandits… the list was endless. Merlin could always sense when something was amiss, and he seemed to always have answers that no one else could provide. Arthur shook his head, a light smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The boy was an old soul; too wise for his young years.

_I have magic..._

At first, Arthur had been angry. _Furious. _Maybe even a little afraid. But now, sitting next to his friend, he felt nothing but a surge of gratitude and… was it pride? The king scoffed at his own girlishness, but he couldn't help it. His best friend was supposedly the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth (Gaius had to have been exaggerating… right?) and he never once wavered in his loyalty. It made Arthur feel strangely humbled by it all.

Arthur sighed, returning his focus back to Merlin's condition. The warlock hadn't woken yet, which was starting to worry the king a bit. Arthur pulled his gloves off and touched his hand softly to Merlin's forehead. He hissed and pulled away, taken aback by the heat radiating from him.

"How on earth did you manage to develop a fever like that so quickly?" Arthur asked incredulously, half-hoping that Merlin would respond.

For once, Merlin stayed silent and peaceful. It was maddening. The king huffed, moving quickly. He checked his servant's pulse, disheartened when he felt it was too sluggish. Arthur then removed Merlin's neckerchief, bundled it up and eased it under Merlin's head to help him breathe better. Arthur sat back on his heels, biting his lip. Merlin always filled the role of the physician on quests. Of course he would never admit it, but Arthur was proud of Merlin for earning that reputation. Arthur knew that if it came to it after Gaius's time, he would one day appoint Merlin as the next court physician. But now, with him unconscious, Arthur felt helpless. Sure, he knew the basics, but whatever was happening was something beyond his knowledge. He could only wait and hope that Merlin would wake soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much to those who have already reviewed. It means a lot! This is my first time publishing fanfiction so I'm still learning. Your comments are very helpful and greatly appreciated. Enjoy the next chapter!

~

Arthur felt like an utter buffoon. He had been on so many missions, patrols and hunting trips, defeated hundreds of adversaries and saved his kingdom more times than he cared to count. Yet, for the life of him, he simply could not get a fire started. It was always Merlin who did it. Arthur obviously knew how to build and start a fire—he wasn't an idiot—but actually doing it? That was a different story. It had been years since Arthur had needed to start his own fire. He had only managed to creat useless sparks that refused to catch the kindling.

What a great king I am. Unable to command even firewood, Arthur thought dryly.

Arthur didn't feel like himself. Ever since he learned of Merlin's power, it made him realize just how much he needed the warlock. It was comforting to finally know, but it made Arthur wonder if maybe he had only achieved so much only because Merlin had always been there for him. Arthur's gaze returned to the servant in question, who was looking paler by the second and his body now racked with shivers.

He would give anything to have the warlock wake, even if just to mutter a quick spell to get the fire going. At least then, maybe Merlin wouldn't freeze to death. Arthur hadn't been bothered by the temperature—which showed that Merlin was somehow getting worse—the wind picked up and the night got even cooler. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Arthur struck the rocks he held with renewed energy. He was getting desperate. If he didn't get the fire started soon—

"Allow me to help with that," a voice boomed from somewhere above the king and manservant.

Arthur sprang to his feet, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at the sky. His breath left him as his eyes caught sight of a horrible, giant, familiar winged creature swooping down to the clearing next to Arthur and the fallen warlock. The king dove to the side as a wall of fire erupted from the foul dragon's mouth and ignited the sad little pile of sticks next to Merlin, who remained peacefully oblivious. Arthur would have laughed if he wasn't shaking in his boots. He had killed this dragon years ago…

The golden beast had settled in the grass in front of Arthur, who was returning to his feet and clumsily raising his sword.

"Arthur Pendragon. So long it's been."

The king shuddered as the soft, cunning voice reached his ears. It was eerily calming, but Arthur knew better than to trust a creature of magic.

"You can speak." Arthur finally said. It wasn't a question, really.

"I can do more than you can imagine. But, better not to dwell on me. I came here for Merlin."

Arthur advanced with his sword, prepared to run him through again. "If you touch him, I'll make sure to finish the job this time."

The king didn't know what to expect, but it definitely wasn't laughter.

"Oh, young king, I am certain you would try your best. But you misunderstand me. I only wish to help."

"Like you helped Camelot all those years ago? I don't think so. How are you even alive?"

Suddenly all the humor dissipated from the beast's eyes and Arthur unwillingly felt a shudder crawl through him. When the dragon spoke again, it was as if his voice was laced with ice.

"I was foolish. I wanted revenge for my kind, as I am one of the last of my kin. I have the young warlock," the dragon gestured (can a dragon gesture?) with its snout towards Merlin, "to thank for sparing my life after I acted so violently." The creature paused, and Arthur could've sworn he saw a twinge of deep sadness in its eyes. "I do regret making that choice."

"Hang on," Arthur finally spit out, his head reeling. "Merlin spared you? He said—he said that I dealt you a fatal blow."

"There is much you have yet to understand, young king. But time is a luxury we do not have, if I am correct about your predicament. I can try to heal Merlin, but if what I fear is true, he will be beyond my help."

"You know what happened?" Arthur asked hopefully, despite himself.

The dragon nodded, a sad smile twisting his features. "I believe so. You see, Merlin has great power. But even he can overextend himself. What he accomplished was no simple magic trick. You were dead, Arthur Pendragon, and he reached in and pulled you back to the land of the living."

The king suddenly felt a desperate need to hold on to something, and settled for stabbing Excalibur into the ground and leaning on it. He figured that Merlin had done something foolish, he just didn't realize the extent of it.

What were you thinking, you idiot? You couldn't have just let it be? Arthur thought, gazing at his friend with incomprehensible fondness. What had Arthur done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?

Arthur regained his composure and raised his gaze back to the dragon. "How is magic like that even possible? I thought only items like the Cup of Life could accomplish such a thing."

"In most cases, yes, you are correct. But Merlin… Merlin is unlike anything I have ever seen in my thousands of years. You see, he and I are connected through a bond of kinship. I felt his very soul calling out to me when he performed the spell, and it made me wonder…"

"Kinship?"

The dragon paused, seeming unsure for a moment if he should continue. But the moment passed quickly and Arthur thought maybe he had imagined it.

"Merlin is the last Dragonlord, and the closest to family I have left."

"No, that's not possible. Balinor was—"

A sinking feeling hit Arthur's gut and he plopped to the ground, despite his efforts to keep leaning on his sword. He remembered that day, seeing Merlin weeping over the lifeless Dragonlord. He remembered finding Merlin's behavior strange since they had only just met Balinor... With a tight feeling in his chest, Arthur remembered his own words after: No man is worth your tears. Oh hell…

"I am sorry, Arthur. I hope you can understand why he couldn't tell you. But we don't have time for this right now. Merlin needs help."

Everything in Arthur's mind screamed at him not to trust the beast. In fact, Arthur could've sworn the voice in his brain sounded an awful lot like Uther. But as the king turned towards his dear friend, the one person who had sacrificed all he had for Arthur, he felt his resolve soften. Uther had embedded such a hatred for all forms of magic in Arthur's mind. Yet, all it took to unravel years of brainwashing was one look at his kind, caring servant. And said servant needed his help.

Arthur gathered his strength to stand again, and with a look he hoped conveyed his protectiveness over his friend, he stepped aside. The dragon dipped his head in gratitude, and lumbered over to the unconscious warlock. Arthur watched with a mix of wariness and fascination as the dragon breathed warm air over Merlin's limp form. The king moved to Merlin's side then, gripping the warlock's shoulder in anticipation.

The dragon let out a sigh. "I have done this many times in the past," —Arthur flinched, wondering just how many times it had been necessary—"and there should already be a noticeable change. I'm afraid this is beyond my power to heal."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him?" Arthur took a deep breath when he realized how frantic he sounded. He tried again to sound calmer. "Please, what can I do?"

"We must speak to Gaius. Come along, we have no time to waste."

Arthur stared as the dragon lowered himself, beckoning.

"You—you want us to ride on you?" Arthur stuttered.

"Merlin has done it many times. I assure you, he enjoys it very much." The dragon replied with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Arthur grunted. Of course he would. He would certainly be having a talk with Merlin and this dragon business when the dollophead finally woke. Before Arthur could change his mind, he bent over and gingerly lifted Merlin's worryingly light body onto the dragon's back before settling in himself. He hoped the ride back to Camelot would be quick—not because he was scared, but because he was worried for his friend and he missed his home and his wife. The king had a sudden jolt of excitement to return home; a place he thought he'd never see again. So when the dragon gave a mighty bellow and rose swiftly into the sky, Arthur blamed his girlish scream on his readiness to reach home.


End file.
